A New Year, the Same Question—And a More Honest Answer

This post is part of the series Habits That Hold Us When Life Is Full—a gentle exploration of sustainable rhythms that support busy moms through full seasons of life.

January always invites reflection. Not the shiny, Instagram version of it—but the quiet, honest kind.

What worked?
What didn’t?
And what, if I’m being truthful, have I been neglecting again?

This year, the answer came quickly: my health.

Yes, I know. Predictable. Every January sounds the same. But clichés usually exist because they’re pointing at something true—and inconvenient. Our health is foundational. When it slips, everything else quietly follows.

I learned that years ago when I first read Atomic Habits. One concept stuck with me and never really let go: cornerstone habits. These are the habits that quietly influence everything else. When you move your body consistently, you tend to eat better. You think more clearly. You respond instead of react. You show up differently for your family—not because you’re trying harder, but because your system is supported.

Exercise has always been that habit for me.

And yet—here I am again, needing to rebuild it.

The last five months have been full in the way only a move and five kids can make life full. Good full. Exhausting full. The kind of full where walks still happen here and there, but structured exercise slowly disappears without ever announcing its exit.

This isn’t new for me. It happens almost every fall.

From October through December, our calendar is relentless: Halloween, six birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, sports, gatherings, school events. Add in the emotional weight of transition and change, and there’s simply not much margin left.

For a long time, I told myself this was a personal failure—proof that I lacked discipline or consistency. But I don’t believe that anymore.

I believe it’s rhythm.

Life with a large family moves in seasons. Some are intense and consuming. Others are still full, but breathable. January has always been a quieter on-ramp for me—a time when the pace softens just enough to rebuild what slipped.

And here’s something I’ve learned the hard way: being harsh with myself never brings me back to life.

That voice—the one that says, You always do this. Why can’t you stay consistent?—has never once motivated me. It only stalls me further.

What does work is something gentler and truer:
You’ve done this before. You can do it again.

So this winter, I’m returning to a rhythm that has sustained me many times before.

I’ll wake up before my kids—around 5am—not because I’m superhuman or naturally energetic, but because I need quiet. I need space to read Scripture, to move my body, to start the day having already done something hard and life-giving.

Let me be clear: I never wake up ready for this. Not once. Even after years of doing it consistently, the first few minutes are always groggy and resistant. Discipline doesn’t feel heroic—it feels ordinary and a little uncomfortable.

This year, I’m adding something new: gentle, ancient movement practices designed to wake up the lymphatic system. Nothing flashy. Just intentional movement to help my body come online before exercise. I’m curious, and I’m hopeful.

Not because this will fix everything—but because it’s a faithful next step.

If you’re a mom reading this and recognizing yourself somewhere in it, here’s what I want you to hear: you are not broken because your habits ebb and flow. You are living a full life. The goal isn’t perfection—it’s returning. Again and again.

January doesn’t demand a brand-new you.
It simply offers space to begin again.

And that is more than enough.

A Prayer for the New Year

Lord, You know the fullness of our lives—the busy seasons, the quiet ones, and the places where we feel stretched thin. You see the habits we’ve lost along the way and the ones we’re longing to rebuild.

Help us begin again without shame. Give us wisdom to know what truly matters, grace for ourselves when life feels heavy, and strength to take the next faithful step—even when it feels small.

Meet us in the early mornings and the tired evenings. Teach us to care for the bodies You’ve given us, not out of pressure or perfection, but out of gratitude and stewardship.

Hold us steady in the fullness of life, and remind us that You are present in every season.

Amen.